"Tom," continued Kneebone, calling to the shop-boy, "don't go home. I think we rest here until to-morrow?” There was a brief silence. I felt as though I had bandaged eyes. “How old are you?” “Sixteen. Of this man Kneebone resolved to go in pursuit; and leaving Jack in charge of the constable, he proceeded to the small inn,—which bore then, as it bears now, the name of the Six Bells,—where, summoning the hostler, his steed was instantly brought him, and, springing on its back, he rode away at full speed. That's the way it goes.
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